


House of Antares: Cold Whispers

by MidnightMarauder7



Category: Original Work
Genre: Assassination Plot(s), Developing Relationship, F/M, Fantasy, How Do I Tag, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pagan if you Squint?, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightMarauder7/pseuds/MidnightMarauder7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WITH THE RISE OF AN EMPIRE COMES THE TROUBLE OF KEEPING CONTROL. THE HOUSE OF ANTARES ROSE TO POWER WITH THE PRECISE STRIKE OF THE BLADE, THE FORCE OF A HAMMER, AND BECAME THE SHIELD AGAINST THE CRUEL PAST. PEACE HAS RULED FOR A DECADE NOW, BUT, THERE IS NOW DANGEROUS INTENTIONS BEING SEEN IN THE ROYAL FAMILY OF A SMALL KINGDOM. A KINGDOM THAT STRADDLES THE LINE BETWEEN TWO WARRING EMPIRES AND COULD BREAK THE ANTARES HOUSE OF THEIR CONTROL.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House of Antares: Cold Whispers

**_PROLOGUE: FOR EVERY ENDING IS JUST A NEW BEGINNING_ **

**_OCTOBER 31, EVENING_ **

 “Lady Abyssinian, the ceremony is about to begin.”

It was his voice that brought her back to reality, cutting through the silence.  She could still hear the distance cheers of the people, celebrating the end of a civil war that had viciously torn entire families and regions to pieces all because of a fight between a mad, inbred Emperor and his greed driven son.  Happiness had been in short supply for the citizen of the Vine Empire the last six years, but hope had blossomed in their hearts.  A hope that was nurtured by the rebel leader named Marius Antares, son of the infamous yet retired General Sebastian Antares who served the previous Emperor during the last major war against the Claw Empire.

“Jethro?” she whispered feeling confused and lost.

She felt his callused hands gently gripping her left hand, carefully prying her fingers from the worn handle of a well-kept straight razor.  It had long been a backup weapon to her, more than a means of keeping her legs and other parts hairless.  It clattered to the marble floor of the bathroom, quickly kicked away.  “My Lady, why?” he asked brushing tears from her cheeks, making her wonder when she had started to cry.  She looked up into his stormy gray eyes and wondered why he would ask her that after everything she forced him through just to protect him.

He had been taken prisoner at one of the major battles.  She could still hear the calls of her comrades-in-arms, wishing for him to be publicly executed to boost the morale of their men.  The anger when she denied them what they wanted, instead choosing to break the man with kindness and making him her slave.  Many believed that it was a better torture for their enemy, while execution as quick the breaking of a spirit as a slave was slower and far worse.  They had a betting pool on when he would commit suicide.

He never showed signs of breaking or self-harm.  The men lost interest but never turned their back, or left their weapons unguarded, around him.  When she had started to trust him with getting her meals, having spent many a long night going over scouting reports or messages from other groups, or falling asleep slumped over tables in his presence her men had thought her mad.  Those days the guards would check in on her every half hour just to ensure he wouldn’t kill their leader.  After all he had sixty pounds of pure muscle and stood a head taller than her, it wouldn’t have taken much.

None understood why he didn’t just kill her and leave, it would have been a windfall for the enemy.

“You are free.  Have been free since the war ended.” She said, voice cracking.  “Why are you still here?”

Jethro didn’t answer.  He sat down on the marble floor pulling her down till she was curled up on his lap with her head over his heart, petting her hair with his free hand.

“Let me take care of you, my Lady.” He whispered into her hair.  That was the wrong thing to Abyssinian, especially in her broken state mind.

His arms felt like metal bands when she started to struggle against him, hurling curses at the man, but he weathered her anger without so much as a frown or retort.  The floor didn’t allow her to gain any leverage to knock him on his back and he still held one of her wrists with the other pinned between their bodies.  Eventually she wore out, her trembling form slumping against him with her face buried into his shoulder.

“Why?” she demanded.  He didn’t loosen his grip around her but did release her wrist so that he could stroke her back in the same comforting way that he had done to the broken children, most of them orphans, during the civil war.  “I’ve already lived my life!  I have nothing else to live for.” 

In pained Jethro to know that she thought that.  She had survived being imprisoned and later tortured for information, seen enemy spies or officers tortured for vital information, walked through pillaged villages covered in broken and burned bodies.  He had road beside her on their campaign to the previous Emperor’s stronghold and seen the grotesque, nightmarish scenes that his former comrades had willingly created and she had not shed a single tear.  It was made him wonder how broken she truly was that here, sitting on the flawless marble floor of a decadent palace clad in a simple chemise, she had been a hairs breadth from cutting her own wrist.

“Don’t ever say that.” he growled holding her tighter.  “You have not lived yet, my Lady, but you will.  I promise you that.”

“You would keep me alive against my will?” she spat trying to pull away.

“If you wanted to die, then why did you hesitate?”

She froze, eyes wide in shock.  Why did she hesitate?  This wasn’t the first time she had been alone since the war ended, since the celebrations began, since the meetings about reconstructing cities and buildings.  So many chances to end it without being discovered, without being noticed.  Why now?  Why the most important day since the final battle of the civil war?

Her anger disappeared leaving her feeling cold and empty.  He loosened his hold on her, only to be surprised when she shifted to straddle his thighs with her arms wrapped around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder.  Jethro had an idea of what brought about her tears, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close humming.

“Did you mean it?”  she asked, hiccupping.

“That I would take care of you?” he asked pressing a kiss to her hair.  “With all my heart and soul, my Lady.”

She remained silent, but it was not a tense or awkward one between them.  It was acceptance, peace, and possibly something else.

“Jethro, I think I have to get dressed now.” She stated lifting her head.  “It would be bad manners to miss the such an important day.”  He slid his hands under her thighs and stood up, chuckling at the shocked squeak she let out, and carried her into the attached bedroom.  He dropped her on to the bed before crossing the room into the walk in closet of dresses that had been commissioned by her the soon-to-be Empress Consort, a gift for her years of loyal service and support or maybe a thank you gift for giving the soon-to-be Empress Consort her now infamous war hammer.

“You best change into your undergarments, my Lady, and I will find you a dress for tonight.” He assured her, sounding smug.  Abyssinian glared at the closet entrance for a few moments before sliding off the bed and gathering up the needed garments, from the fine silk stockings and bloomers to the annoying reinforced bodice, and carefully changed into them.  Jethro stepped back into the room holding a conservative dark blue with white pinstriped dress, long in sleeve with a high starched white collar and cuffs with an overlay of delicate black lace.

“I take it we are going to argue views of how you will take care of me.” She snorted accepting the dress.  Jethro watched her shimmy into the dress, careful not to disturb the lace or the bustle, before he started to button the row of black pearl buttons along her spine from waist to the nape of her neck.

“It will never be boring.”

She just laughed grabbing the brush from the vanity, carefully brushing the tangles from her hair.  He waited to see what she would do and was surprised when she sat the brush down, not bothering to pull her hair up into a style.

“Forgetting something, my Lady?” Jethro asked picking up a thick silver chain that had a heavy, pendant of tarnished silver with a large egg shaped crystal gripped by the talons of two majestic birds with long tail feathers curling around the bottom.  “Cannot forget this.”  He slipped it around her neck and clasped it under the collar.

“Thank you, Jethro.” Abyssinian smiled touching the pendant.  It finally felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, but there was still something that made her chest feel horribly tight.

\---

The night was crisp and cool, the beauty of fall close to giving way to the serenity of winter.  The full moon hung high in a cloudless night sky, a rare event for Hallow’s Eve into Day since the first snow tended to occur by that point.  The set-up for the ceremony was odd to the nobles in attendance, but not to the men  and women that fought tooth and nail beside their new Emperor.  No chairs had been set up on the grounds, no elaborate flower arrangements, and no decorations beyond the paper lanterns that hung from the lowest branches of the ancient oak tree.  It was simple and to the point.

The Priest stood tall, clad in simple black robes lined with wolf fur, with white and varying red ribbons in all shades hanging from the breast pocket.  All gathered on the grounds fell silent when they heard the call of the hunting horns, heralding the arrival of the groom.

Emperor Marius Antares, the newly crowned Emperor and Head of the Royal House of Antares, stepped on to the grounds and everyone bowed their heads.  At one time they may have disparaged that their Emperor was so young, but having seen him in battle they held their tongues.  He stood just over six foot tall, his dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, wearing battle dented armor with a sword at his hip with a heavy cape of wool draped over his shoulders.

Minutes later a second fanfare rang out, this time the resounding tones of a coronet.  The bride’s summons.

That was when Brighid of the Noble House of Polaris stepped from the ballroom, radiant in a dress baring the colors of her house.  The gown was pure white with a scoop neck and fell to her ankles with a  high collared dress of icy blue lace in the designs of stars over it, bringing out the black sheathed blades on the backs of her arms and at the small of her back, just about the bustle.  Her fiery red hair pulled up into a pile of curls on her head, pinned in place with starburst crystals.  Most brides carried flowers, she carried her war hammer with white ribbons wrapped around the handle.

Court ladies looked scandalized, the women that fought beside Brighid looked proud.

The Priest nodded to them both.

“Declare your official witness, Emperor Marius of the House of Antares.” The Priest intoned pulling a white ribbon from his pocket.

“I call the Assassin Black Dragon to stand as my witness.”  Marius called out.  The man stepped from the shadows, covered from head to toe in black, bowing to the man.

“It is an honor, Emperor Marius, to stand for you on this important day.”  The man rasped out standing tall again, letting the Priest tie the ribbon around his left wrist.  Marius pulled his blade from its sheath and handed it over to the man.

“Declare your official witness, Lady Brighid of the House of Polaris.”

“I call upon on our sister-in-arms, the Lady of Whispers, to stand as my witness.” Brighid proudly declared, head held high.  A masked woman with straight, bone colored hair gracefully dropped from the low branch of the tree, her dark dress blending in well with the shadows.  This had surprised everyone, except the Priest who had calmly pulled a secondary white ribbon from his front pocket.

“You honor me greatly, Noble Lady Brighid of Polaris.”  She replied with a curtsey. She offered her left hand to the Priest, who wrapped the ribbon around her wrist before she accepted Brighid’s war hammer.

“With the witnesses declared, with the moon full and at its apex on this holiest of nights, let us begin with the ceremony.” The Priest bellowed out lifting his arms.  Both witnesses fell to their knees, lifting the weapons they held above their heads, when Marius and Brighid grasped the other’s forearm in the typical greeting of warriors.

Everything around them fell silent for a few moments, a heavy cloak of unknown power weighting heavy on the grounds and manifesting as a halo around the moon.  It was an unearthly silence broken only when the Priest started a song, echoing across the grounds in his gravelly baritone, in a tongue a few recognized.  Both witnesses picked it up on the second iteration, continuing for another three repeated before breaking off.

The vows were recited in the same language, spoken with unmistakable passion.  As the couple made their declarations, their eternal vows, Priest carefully coiled the remaining ribbons around their joined hands tying each off with a series of complicated knots.  Brighid finished her vows lacing the fingers of right free hand with Marius’s, who leaned forward and chastely kissed her before everyone.  Black Dragon was on his feet, slipping the tip of the blade between their right hands and cut their palms.  Lady of Whispers extended the hammer so that their mingled blood dripped on the metal head before Priest tied the last red and white ribbon around their injured hands.

With that, the ceremony was declared done.

The Priest undid the blood stained ribbons, revealing bloody hands with the wounds already scarred over.  All in attendance cheered loud enough to send bats streaking through the air.

Black Dragon and Lady of Whispers left the cheering to secure the now ceremonial weapons in the ballroom, just behind the main table.  “Lady of Whispers, I have an official letter from the Emperor.” A nervous servant squeaked out, drawing their attention.  “He left instructions that it was to be given to you after the ceremony.”

She accepted the sealed letter with a polite nod, the boy scampering off out of sight.  Turning around she noted that Black Dragon had left, giving her the needed privacy to break the seal and see what was so important to be delivered so soon after his marriage.


End file.
